


catalyst

by vampyrekat



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anya does not which is highly ironic, Cat Puns, Dmitry is very tired of their shit, F/M, Fluff, Gleb has Disney-Princess like powers over animals, but the author has two cats so that part is accurate, cat puns everywhere, shameless fluff, the author has never picked someone up from jail so that part is inaccurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampyrekat/pseuds/vampyrekat
Summary: Anya realized several facts in rapid succession.First, the dust mop was actually a cat wearing a harness, looking unrepentant and adorable and utterly unbothered by the threats directed at it.Second, the front of the man’s shirt and pants was covered in spilled coffee, which probably had something to do with the aura of smug satisfaction from the cat. Possibly even more to do with the coffee cup shattered on the floor.Third, it was the officer from the other week, the one who had helped her up after her fright and offered to buy her tea. The one she had fled from the second she saw the uniform and the one who apparently worked weekend night shifts. She wished she could be surprised by such coincidence.Fourth, they had been staring at each other in silent shock for a full thirty seconds now, and it was going to be awkward if neither of them spoke soon, and point four-and-a-half, she’d completely forgotten what she came here for.





	catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> This is a formal apology for all the angst I've been posting lately. Happy fluffy modern au, plot may or may not occur down the line. This fic is dedicated to the flight attendant who refused to take payment for my Bloody Mary this morning, he was the real MVP and reason this got written.

**1:30**.The dashboard clock blinked up at Anya like an accusation. She shared back at it resentfully, as thought it was somehow the fault of the clock that the light indicating  _afternoon_  remained unlit. As though the clock, and not her, had brought them here, to the parking lot of a small satellite police station in the middle of the night. Really, it was Dmitry's fault for being arrested and Vlad's for refusing to come pick him up, and yes, Anya's for being stupid enough to volunteer instead. That is what had brought her and the clock to sitting in the parking lot, Anya in her pajamas with a winter coat over it because she just wanted to be asleep.

She bitterly cursed her compassionate nature and, for a shining moment, considered what would happen if she went home and let Dmitry stew overnight. It would serve him right, and maybe he would learn it. Knowing Dmitry, there would be no such luck, but Anya had always been an optimist. She took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, arranging her features into a polite smile. It was almost effortless, after the instruction Vlad and Dmitry had given her, and she wore it like a shield. It was a small mercy that Dmitry had gotten himself thrown into a suburban precinct, and she wouldn’t have to deal with too many people. Indeed, the place was all but deserted when she walked in.

There was one officer on duty, although he was speaking in a firm stream of Russian to and occasionally stroking what looked like a multicolored dust mop on the desk while trying to simultaneously blot his shirt with a oft-replaced paper towel. Anya was out of practice with Russian, but it sounded an awful lot like he was threatening the ... dust mop? desk toy? highly unfortunate decoration? with a guillotine, or perhaps a death squad. He hadn’t made up his mind, _if she couldn't tell_ , because _she!_  was more trouble than she was worth, and this - _this!_ \- was why they had done away with royalty, _if she didn’t know_. Anya cleared her throat, the man looked up, and Anya realized several facts in rapid succession.

First, the dust mop was actually a cat wearing a harness, looking unrepentant and adorable and utterly unbothered by the threats directed at it.

Second, the front of the man’s shirt and pants was covered in spilled coffee, which probably had something to do with the aura of smug satisfaction from the cat. Possibly even more to do with the coffee cup shattered on the floor.

Third, it was the officer from the other week, the one who had helped her up after her fright and offered to buy her tea. The one she had fled from the second she saw the uniform and the one who apparently worked weekend night shifts. She wished she could be surprised by such coincidence.

Fourth, they had been staring at each other in silent shock for a full thirty seconds now, and it was going to be awkward if neither of them spoke soon, and point four-and-a-half, she’d forgotten what she came here for, because he was watching her like he’d just seen the sun for the first time and wanted nothing more than to continue looking at her in silence, and she hadn't come prepared for that.

His name badge said Vaganov, and she stared at where it caught the fluorescent light for a long moment because it was easier than meeting his gaze. She felt almost nervous, even though they hadn’t said anything, even though she’d done nothing wrong - identity theft wasn’t really the jurisdiction of the local gendarmes, and even then, they had no proof she  _wasn’t_  a Romanov until they met her maybe-grandmother - but it would be too much to hold his gaze.

Another beat, and the officer smiled widely and leapt to his feet. Anya caught the scent of strong, dark coffee, and the cat made a complaining noise as she was ignored in favor of running his hand through his own hair nervously.

“You!” he said finally, which - was fair, if she was being honest. She didn’t know what to say either. He tried to tug his shirt into place, seemed to recall he was covered in coffee, and froze before laughing nervously and rocking up onto his toes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I’m - I see you’ve stopped shaking! That’s good.” He laughed nervously.

The cat stood, stretched, and made it as far as the edge of the desk before being swooped up into his arms. She gave a loud, protesting yowl and dug her nails into his arm. He winced slightly and made a discouraging noise, grabbing the back of her neck.

“Your cat,” Anya said finally, not sure what else to say, “is trying to kill you.”

“She’s not mine,” he said, almost reflexively, flipping the bundle of fur over to hold her in his arms like a baby. He tried to glare, but she waved a paw at his face absently and his expression softened slightly.  “She’s a foster. Far more trouble than she’s worth.”

The cat gave him a heart-melting look of adoration and purred so loudly Anya could almost hear it from across the desk. He gave her an exasperated look and Anya put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. His expression was faux-reprimanding and yet so very gentle, and he had an innocent confidence about him that made her sure he didn’t know how attractive he was. It was a nice change from Dmitry, who seemed to be all too aware of his own good looks.

Oh.

Dmitry.

_Right._

“I’m here to pick up my brother,” she blurted, too loud, and he looked up at her with a more professional gaze, almost assessing, before giving her a pleasant smile and setting the cat down on the desk. Anya caught a protesting mew as four paws hit the cold desk.

“Of course,” Vaganov said politely. “Your name…?”

“Anya,” she said. He nodded and held out a hand, and she was baffled for a moment before realizing what he wanted and digging her (beautifully fake, courtesy of Vlad) driver’s license out of her back pocket.

“ _Anna Anderson?_ ” he read, and she nodded confirmation.

“Anya’s just a -”

“- Russian nickname,” he finished for her, and smiled. She nodded mutely.  _Anna_ had come after  _Anya_ , for her, but she was used to having to explain the naming convention. It was like missing a step in her waltz to not have to explain, but he seemed charmed. “And your brother is?”

“Dmitry,” she said promptly, and froze. Dmitry’s real,  _legal_  last name was an enigma to her, and he carried an array of IDs on different days, and she had only just remembered she was here for him in the first place. The cat started sniffing around the desk - for spilled coffee? - and _oh_ , had Vlad warned her which last name to use? Anya couldn’t recall, especially as Vaganov’s eyebrows were inching higher. He managed to catch the cat’s harness and hold her still without breaking eye contact with Anya, planting his other hand on the desk. He was leaning towards her, and while it wasn't quite looming - she still a few feet away, not quite close enough to be intimidated -  it was close.

She forced herself to hold his gaze and tried to recall what Dmitry had said about blinking naturally when lying. He had discussed it, and she had listened, but Vaganov’s gaze was fixed on hers, dark and intent and she was forgetting everything she’d ever learned about poise and grace in favor of shrinking into her coat and perhaps melting into the floor.

“I don’t think we have a Dmitry Anderson,” he almost purred, and she felt chills down her spine. It wasn't quite fear, or at least not entirely, but she wasn't going to examine that when she was about to be in serious trouble for lying, and _god_ , Dmitry _owed her_ for this. Vaganov quirked an eyebrow and smiled at her. It had an edge and she felt a genuine shiver trace down her spine. “What’s your brother’s name?”

She had no idea. She had  _no idea_  which name Dmitry had used, and she was going to be caught out in her lie and go to jail for a fake license, which was still in his hand, before she even had the chance to be arrested for identity fraud. It was almost two in the morning and the officer was restraining a cat with one hand and threatening her neatly without moving and Anya felt something inside her snap, just a little.

She was  _so_ tired of being afraid.

She straightened up - chin up, regal bearing - and walked to the desk, planting her hands on it and leaning in. His eyes widened at the invasion of his space, and she smiled up at him - god, he was tall, and she could smell the spilled coffee and whatever it was he used for aftershave and the shoe-shine off his boots, and it wasn’t a bad mixture, somehow - and tried to mimic his silky tone.

“You clearly know Dmitry.” She was, however distantly and deposed, royal blood. She could do this, even in her pajamas. She _had_ to, and she smiled up at him. “Do you  _really_  want to keep him overnight?”

He looked down at her for a long, elastic moment, and she was quietly sure his gaze had flicked to her lips before he could stop himself, and - it was after midnight, and all she had wanted was to get Dmitry out of jail, she was going to strangle her so-called brother and then  _herself_ for this messy situation. Vaganov opened his mouth and his breath caught for a moment, as though he was unsure what to say, and his gaze had definitely flickered to her lips and back again a second time. Anya allowed teeth into her smile and refused to shy away, even as they both seemed to lean in, and fuck, she had glanced at his lips too, hadn't she, and they were too close to pretend he hadn't seen the motion.

The cat, under his hand, hit her breaking point and let out a low yowl of protest at her immobilization and the moment shattered. Vaganov yanked his hand from the animal and leaned back, and the shell-shocked look bleed away to a resigned amusement.

“You’re right; I don’t,” he allowed. He sounded a little breathless, and Anya didn't know what to make of the swoop of triumph in her chest as he took another step in retreat. “Let me go make sure Dmitry expects you, and I’ll deliver him to you.”

Anya, still leaning halfway across the desk and unsure when she had gone that far, smiled as regally as she could manage. “Thank you, officer.”

She sounded a touch breathless, but she had been taught to act. She could hide it. His gaze caught on her face again, and for a moment she was afraid something had given her away, but --

“Gleb,” he said suddenly, and she couldn’t help the look of puzzlement that flitted over her face. He swallowed and corrected himself. “My name is Gleb - please.”

“ _Gleb_ ,” she echoed, and he grinned in shocked relief, stumbling back a step without breaking her gaze before turning and vanishing through a side door. Anya felt as though air had come rushing back into lungs, and she sagged, still leaning on the desk.

The cat gave her a resentful look, and then decided to make a fresh bid for freedom. Anya smiled tiredly and caught the harness, scooping the creature into her arms before she could jump off the desk. It really was a beautiful animal, cream with black and orange patches, and clearly well cared for, even if her foster owner had left her here with Anya in his hasty escape. 

The cat narrowed her eyes and tried to swipe at Anya's wrist.

Anya narrowed her eyes and flicked it on the nose.

They glared at each other for a long moment, the cat’s low, resentful growl steadily growing in volume, until the door swung open. Dmitry looked no worse for wear, his hair mussed in what he would call artfully tousled disarray but what Anya might have charitably called a bird’s nest. Vaganov was a half-step behind him, a hand on his shoulder blade, and Anya noted that there was a markedly more irritated air to the officer than before. Dmitry had that effect on people, she’d found.

“Anya,” Dmitry said happily, and she smiled.

“Do you have  _any idea_  what I go through for you?” she asked in lilting, gentle French as Vaganov -  _Gleb_  - brought him up to the desk. It was a bad habit to rant at him in a language he didn’t speak, but he hated it and Anya had, she felt, earned it tonight. Dmitry raised an eyebrow, clearly uncomprehending, and she smiled beatifically before adding, “You absolute, tall, terrible, fucking  _idiot_. I should sell you for extra ramen.”

Dmitry remained carefully blank, but Vaganov snorted, and Anya glanced at him. She hadn’t been expecting him to be  _tri_ lingual, but though his face was a carefully schooled into a professional expression, his eyes gave away his repressed amusement. After a moment, she giggled, and he laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably when he did so, and Anya tried to ignore the uneven beat of her heart as she held the cat out to him. He took it and indicated she should take Dmitry in exchange, which felt like an equal trade in some ways.

The cat immediately began purring in Gleb’s arms, watching Anya with narrowed eyes, but even that wasn't enough to completely wipe the smile from Anya's face.

“Oh,  _wonderful_ ,” Dmitry complained loudly, in the manner of someone not used to being ignored. “Now you’re fraternizing.”

“Be quiet, Sudayev,” Gleb said firmly, glancing at the book in front of her, and Anya recognized the subtle information for what it was. She signed for Dmitry Sudayev and thanked Gleb politely before dragging Dmitry out by his shirtsleeve and making their escape.

**Author's Note:**

> The cat is fancast as Ansifa, for those wondering, also known as "angry cat no banana". [She adores Gleb](https://78.media.tumblr.com/dd0e33668e0927eb9a9d2555e28718b0/tumblr_pbobnp0LMl1wfyrwfo2_400.png) and [doesn't much approve of obstacles to Gleb](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5cb0d60a5ddb2007da896e4dd1192931/tumblr_pbobnp0LMl1wfyrwfo1_500.png). She has a name, but -- spoilers.
> 
> As ever, follow my tumblr for more updates and writing snippets at [vampyrekatwrites](http://vampyrekatwrites.tumblr.com/). If you want to see my more general fandom side, my Anastasia blog is at [nanasalt](http://nanasalt.tumblr.com/). Feel free to PM me or send asks! The interaction is what keeps me writing.


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